Man Drought (30 page)

Squeals of excitement mingled with cries of disgust as the others abandoned all pretences of fencing, chasing the blonde towards the sheering shed. Gibson took one look at the tools, wiped water from his forehead and launched into a run himself. It wasn’t that the rain bothered him so much as that he wanted to be there for Imogen when these wussy women barrelled into the shed. They pushed and shoved ahead of him through the open doorway and then shook their heads, trying to rid their hair of the rain like a pack of wild dogs.

Gibson located Imogen across the other side of the shed, where Tom was in the middle of a shearing demo. As her gaze landed on the chaos spilling in the door, she started towards him.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Rain.’ He gestured behind him and she peered past. ‘Lots of it.’

‘Dammit.’ She scowled and ran both hands through her hair. ‘This wasn’t forecast.’

‘Relax,’ he instructed, fighting the urge to squeeze her hand in a show of support. ‘We’ll have lunch early in here and hope it passes quickly. I’ll heat up the urn and we’ll give everyone a warm Milo to settle them. This weekend’s about romance, right?’

She nodded and he swore he saw a lump travel up the column of her throat. He felt one in his too.

‘Trust me, there’s nothing more romantic than keeping warm and sheltered out of the rain. Where’s the lunch?’

‘Still in eskies on the back of Guy’s ute.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’ He was already scanning the crowd for Guy as she thanked him.

Imogen bit into one of Pauli’s gourmet chicken, avocado and sundried tomato wraps and sent a silent prayer of thanks skywards for Gibson. He’d not only kept her calm when the storm threatened to rain on her parade, but he’d made everything perfect for the complaining city girls as well. She only hoped that when this weekend was over, they could get back to some kind of friendship.

With the help of Guy and Tom, he’d trudged back and forth through the rain and puddles, fetching food, blankets to huddle under and, best of all, a massive stereo to really set the mood.

You could barely hear the wind howling and the rain teeming on the tin roof of the shearing shed over the country tunes blasting from the stereo and the tap of dancing feet against the floorboards. Spunky farmers spun the female participants round the shed in some sort of country disco ritual. Imogen couldn’t help but smile. When the girls had run screaming into the shed only half an hour ago, she’d sworn any chance of a successful weekend was over, but now …

‘Care to dance?’

One of the male participants – a guy who frequented the pub – jolted her from her reverie. She’d made the decision not to interact in anything but a professional manner with anyone, but he’d caught her off-guard. Before she knew it, his hand clasped hers and he pulled her off the ground, oblivious to the wrap in her other hand. As the man waltzed her onto the makeshift dance floor, she dumped her food on a trestle table and tried to smile, not wanting to embarrass him by turning him down in front of his peers.

She rocked uncomfortably to the music, glad that the current song was upbeat and she didn’t have to get up close and personal. Counting down the minutes till she could politely escape, she glanced sideways and saw Gibson standing by the door – his eyes trained on her, his lips decidedly scowling. Her stomach dropped. She hoped he’d seen the man approach
her
and that he didn’t think she could so easily switch her affections.

How far from the truth that was.

All around her, everyone looked to be having the time of their lives. Jenna, twirling underneath Guy’s arm, swung past and winked at Imogen. She tried to smile back. Gibson’s dogs, Jack and Jill, weaved in and out between the dancers, desperate to get in on the action too. But Imogen just couldn’t feel it.

Then, as if solely to torture her, the music that had been loud and boppy seconds before turned soft and undeniably romantic. As each man snatched for his favoured woman, Imogen looked into her partner’s eyes and cringed. Oblivious, he offered a cheesy grin, slipped his arms around her waist and crushed her against him.

The feel of his tall, hard body pressed up against hers sickened her. Her insides revolted and she racked her brain for a way to extract herself. She wriggled a little, then just as she was about to make her escape, thunder boomed overhead and the lights and music died.

‘Aww!’ Groans and moans echoed throughout the shed. Her partner dropped his hands to his side, blinking as if to decipher what had happened. She didn’t stick around long enough for him to find out.

Gibson was already outside, surveying the scene. She jumped down the steps from the shed, joining him on the ground. Despite the rain they’d already had, the menacing black clouds hadn’t lifted at all. All around them, heavy drops pelted down, turning the thick, muddy puddles on the normally dusty ground into lakes. Imogen
thought briefly of Gibson’s offer that they could use his swimming pool – this had not been what either of them had had in mind.

‘Shit,’ Gibson said as a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky over Lookout hill. Thunder cracked seconds later. He turned to her. ‘You’ve got to get everyone back into town. I can’t remember the last time we had a storm like this. Leave the shed as is. I’ll clean up later, but right now, you’ve gotta move people and I have to move sheep.’

Imogen watched as Gibson started running towards his house. She wanted to call him back – to tell him she hadn’t wanted to dance with that man – but now wasn’t the time. She rubbed her arms – freezing – but knowing from the anxiousness in his voice that this was serious and she didn’t have time to waste.

‘Tom,’ she shouted, as she turned back into the shed, ‘we’ve gotta go.’

His faithful dogs at his heels, Gibson reached his ute, yanked open the door and ushered Jack and Jill in ahead of him. He slammed the door, tugged the gears into reverse and took off towards a low paddock that had been known to flood in times of heavy rain – and where half his sheep just happened to be grazing.

Despite not wanting Imogen’s weekend to be a flop, in a way he couldn’t help being happy for the opportunity to escape.

Most of his mates had now no doubt abandoned the Man Drought project and were probably heading towards their farms, anxious to save their own stock.

A little bit of rain would have been okay, but this was something else. Where this storm had come from, he had no idea. All he knew was that he had to move the sheep to higher ground. If Charlie were here, he’d help, but he’d chosen to bypass the farm visit, saying
he had things to do before his shift this evening. That had surprised Gibson, but now he was glad of it. As knowledgeable and useful as Charlie used to be, Gibson didn’t want his recent confusion slowing the process.

As he drove, he tried to focus on the terrain. The rain pelted so hard he could barely see centimetres ahead. In a matter of minutes, the lightning had multiplied and the thunder sounded like a heavy metal band in the sky, only a few seconds’ reprieve between each impressive episode.

Although he knew the track like the back of his hand, he had to ease back on the accelerator as he navigated the swampy paddocks. He may have slowed the vehicle but thoughts raced through his mind like high-speed helicopter blades. The image of Imogen and that bloke dancing together would be a nightmare for life. She’d told him she was ready to move on, to find love again, and it was only a matter of time before some smart guy locked on to that fact.

Sliding wildly in the mud, the ute careened over a bump and almost crashed into a fence. ‘Dammit!’ He took a deep breath, needing to concentrate on the task at hand. He’d finally reached the paddock where hundreds of sheep were scrambling about, sloshing through puddles in their quest for higher ground.

For the next half an hour, Gibson and the dogs worked hard moving the sheep to a higher paddock near the lookout. Normally, the view was breathtaking, but he couldn’t see anything from up there today – wind threw grit and sticks hurling through the air, the low clouds made the sky look like night, and the rain was still heavy. At one point, a tree crashed to the ground to his right, just a little down from Lookout hill, and Gibson knew he had to get to shelter fast. Hoping he’d done enough to save the sheep, he ushered Jack and Jill back into the ute.

As he headed back towards the homestead – driving slower than
snail’s pace, frustration clawing at him every metre of the way – he thought about the old shack, how it had no doubt seen hundreds of storms and somehow weathered them all. He hoped it’d survive this one.

Only a hundred metres or so from his house, hailstones began catapulting out of the sky. As they slammed into the windscreen and belted on the ute roof, he realised these weren’t your run-of-the-mill hailstones – these were golf ball-sized, capable of doing serious damage. The dogs barked in the seat beside him, taking turns diving towards the dash as if trying to catch the hail.

Even before he’d switched off the engine, he opened the door and yelled, ‘Inside, now!’ His dogs may have been excitable at times, but they knew when to obey their master. They bounded ahead of him, down the cobbled path and flew up the few steps onto the verandah. He must have left a window open, for the wind had almost blown the front door off its hinges. The moment he stepped inside, he slammed the door behind him, shivered and took a second to calm himself.

Having battened down the hatches, he went into the lounge room. Jack and Jill had already adopted prime position on the rug in front of the wood fire that hadn’t been lit since last winter. Whoever said dogs were stupid obviously hadn’t met these two, he thought as he set the fire. Luckily, he’d collected a bit of wood a week or so ago, anticipating that the cold would land suddenly.

Not like this though. He hadn’t seen rain like this in years.

The fire roaring and the dogs settled, Gibson headed for the bathroom to peel off his soggy clothes and take a hot shower before hypothermia settled in his bones. He spent longer than he should underneath the hot shards – like every other farmer, he’d been trained in water preservation and usually kept to a three-minute limit. But not today. Today, he needed the warmth and the comfort and the time to just be.

When he emerged, the phone was ringing in the kitchen. Knowing that any sort of emergency could have occurred in this foul weather, he made a mad dash for it, wrapping a towel around his waist as he ran, and anticipating having to head out again with the ambulance or the SES.

‘Yes,’ he answered, his towel slipping as he grabbed the phone.

‘Hi Gibson.’

‘Imogen.’ He breathed out the tension he’d been feeling since he’d left her at the shed. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, thanks. It was a bit of a hairy ride but we all got back into town safely.’

Thank God she was out of harm’s way. He wished he didn’t care so damn much, but it was too damn late. Despite his best intentions, he was unable to control his heart. He’d fallen in love with Imogen in a way he’d never thought possible again.

‘Most of the girls have retreated for showers and I’m not sure the guys will make it back from their farms, but anyway … have you heard from Charlie?’

Lost in his thoughts, he barely heard the first part of her sentence, but her mention of his granddad grabbed his attention. ‘No. Why?’

‘I tried to call him to tell him not to bother coming out in the rain for his shift – the girls and I can manage with Jenna’s help – but he didn’t answer his phone. I tried a couple more times and then gave up, thinking he’d likely venture out anyway and show up for work. It’s probably nothing, but it’s past his rostered time now and he’s still not here. I was wondering if he mentioned going anywhere to you.’

‘He did say he had something to do this morning, but he was definitely planning to work tonight.’ Gibson racked his brain for a logical reason why Charlie wouldn’t be answering the call. The phones were obviously still working.

‘Okay, then, I’ll go round to his place and check.’

Gibson peeled back the kitchen curtain and looked outside. As if on cue, lightning streaked across the sky and more thunder sounded. ‘No way, you stay where you are. I’ll head there now. He’s probably just fallen asleep.’

‘Yeah, probably.’ But he could tell her chirpy optimistic voice was a front.

They were both thinking the same thing: Charlie hadn’t been himself for weeks, and going missing in this weather could be lethal.

After making sure the fire was safe, Gibson left the dogs lounging on the rug, and then dressed in his wet-weather gear, ready to face the storm. As he descended the steps towards his ute, he registered that the rain had finally eased a little. At least he’d be able to see through the windscreen as he drove into town. Halfway down the gravel driveway, a thought struck him, and he swung the ute left down the dirt track to the old homestead.

It was just a hunch, but the hail had stopped him taking a good look when he’d passed by earlier, so he wanted to be sure. From about a hundred metres away he registered Charlie’s old beast. For a second, his heart relaxed, but the smile died on his face as he noted the disaster behind the car.

Fuck!

One of the old trees had been struck by lightning and now lay right across the old shack, dividing the building into two piles of devastation. The old brick stones were scattered left and right and
the jagged sheets of corrugated iron that had once formed the roof were jabbed up in the air like an abstract sculpture. He’d never imagined lightning could do so much damage. Slamming his foot against the brake, Gibson leapt from the ute, not bothering to shut the door as he ran towards the debris.

‘Charlie!’ he yelled, his voice barely audible above the screaming wind. ‘Charlie!’

Nothing. Although, if Charlie were injured, he might not be able to answer. Treading carefully so as not to lose his footing, Gibson arrived at what was once the entrance of the building and peered inside. He called again but still got no reply.

Taking a deep breath, he began trying to shift some of the rubble – careful not to make any sudden movements that could send the remains of the walls crashing down. He pushed and heaved and yanked, but barely anything budged. The huge sheets of iron were almost impossible to shift by himself. He couldn’t see Charlie lying injured anywhere, but if he wasn’t here, where the hell was he? The car was fine. Surely he’d have taken shelter there if he could.

Gibson ran one hand through his hair, his other hand already in his pocket, grabbing his phone. He dialled Guy. Maybe he was overreacting, but where Charlie was concerned, he’d do everything he could.

‘Hey mate, how’s your place?’ Guy sounded carefree, so Gibson guessed he’d managed to get his stock to safety.

‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘Are you back in town?’

‘Heading there now. Why?’

‘It’s Charlie.’ Gibson told Guy everything he knew.

‘Oh shit,’ was Guy’s initial response, but he quickly switched to action mode, promising to make his way to Roseglen and alert the other SES volunteers to be ready if a search were needed.

Disconnecting the call, Gibson turned back to the shack and set
to removing one tedious stone at a time until Guy arrived and they could really make inroads.

Imogen took a long slurp on the mug of Milo Pauli had insisted she drink and sighed. So much for a successful matchmaking weekend. The rain had finally eased and girls were only now straggling back into the pub, having showered after the storm. Only a couple of men had returned, but Jenna had spoken to Guy, who’d assured her the others would be back as soon as they could. Thanks to Karen, the wood fire was now roaring in the corner, creating a pretty scene, not to mention much-needed warmth. Just a Bunch of Cowgirls were doing their bit to try to brighten the mood, belting out tunes from the stage.

Despite the efforts, the long faces of her female participants told Imogen they were going to be a hard crowd to please, but right now, all her thoughts centred on Charlie. The Milo felt heavy in her belly and she didn’t think she could stomach any more. Hopefully, the sixth sense that told her something had happened to him was wide of the mark. If only she’d braved the elements and checked his house before alerting Gibson. What if she’d worried him for nothing? Like he needed any more woe in his life.

Imogen felt an encouraging squeeze on her shoulder and turned to see Jenna taking the stool beside her. Jenna cradled an identical mug of Milo and smiled sympathetically. ‘How are you?’

Before Imogen could reply, Jenna’s iPhone rang. She glanced at the screen, grinned and answered. ‘Hey sweet, what’s up?’

The expression on Jenna’s face changed from joyful to anxious in a matter of seconds. Imogen’s pulse started a manic tap dance as she waited for the conversation to be over.

‘What is it?’ she asked the moment Jenna disconnected.

‘It’s Charlie,’ Jenna said, confirming the worst as she reached out
to take Imogen’s hand. ‘Gibson found his car near an old shack on his property. The shack was totally destroyed in the storm. Guy and Gibson have torn it apart, but there’s no sign of him.’

‘Oh Lord.’ Imogen’s hand rushed to her chest – she thought of Charlie’s old homestead and all the cherished memories it held. Then, of course, she thought of Charlie. If he wasn’t there, where could he be?

Jenna held Imogen’s shaking hands and looked at her. ‘He’s going to be fine. The SES is preparing to start a search. They’ll find him. Try not to worry.’

Try not to worry?
She couldn’t bear the thought of Charlie lost somewhere, alone and confused in this god-awful weather. Even worse was how Gibson would feel if they didn’t find him alive. She closed her eyes, wishing she could imagine this nightmare away.

‘What we can do?’ She yanked her hands out of Jenna’s and slipped off the stool, ready for action.

Jenna shook her head. ‘We’ve got to concentrate on here; Guy said most of the men won’t be returning now because they’ll want to join the search.’

Imogen nodded, totally understanding. She wanted to join the search herself – nothing seemed as important as that right now – but Jenna was right. She couldn’t just up and leave the women who’d paid for this weekend. ‘Okay,’ she said eventually, trying to swallow her fear and worry. ‘I suppose I’d better tell the girls.’

‘Do you want me to?’ Jenna asked.

‘No, it’s fine. They’re my responsibility.’

‘Okay, then.’ Jenna smiled then yawned, reminding Imogen her friend was in the early stages of pregnancy.

‘Hey, since we’re quiet here, do you want to go have a rest upstairs?’

‘No, I’m fine. Honestly. I’m not ill, just pregnant, and right now I want to be here for you.’

Feeling as if she could burst with love, Imogen leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Jenna, hugging her tightly. ‘I’m so happy for you,’ she said, her own eyes finally welling with truly happy tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to share her friend’s joy until now, but everyone deserved what Jenna had found: someone to love and start a family with.

Yet when she closed her eyes and tried to imagine that for herself, all she could see was Gibson. Just Gibson and her. And they were blissfully happy.

As if her world had just tilted, Imogen pulled back slightly. ‘It’s because of Guy, isn’t it?’

Jenna frowned. ‘What’s because of Guy?’

‘You never wanted a baby until him. His love changed you: it opened up a whole new world.’

Jenna tilted her head to one side, thinking. ‘Yes, I guess it did. But the truth is, as much as I’m looking forward to the baby, I would have been quite happy to wait a bit, enjoy some time with Guy. Hell, I’d have been happy to have him all to myself forever. Lucky he’s got lots of love to go around.’

‘That he does,’ Imogen agreed, but her mind was elsewhere. When Jamie died, she’d thought all was lost – her chance of love, her chance of motherhood. Slowly, she’d begun to heal, to come to terms with a different life. She’d never imagined finding someone she loved enough to be able to move on, to be able to have children with. But coming here, she’d been given more than a new direction in her life. Her heart had opened itself up, healed so completely that there’d been room for Gibson to take over.

He may not have been able to have children, but she believed – oh, how she believed – he was capable of love. She could see it in his total devotion to Charlie – and in the hurt in his eyes when she told him she wanted more.

She could no longer deny her heart.

It didn’t matter if Gibson couldn’t have children. It was he she’d fallen in love with, him and only him. He was more than enough. But it would to take some kind of miracle to convince him.

‘Earth to Imogen. Please, if you say any more, you’re going to make me cry.’

Imogen wondered if she’d spoken her epiphany aloud, then realised Jenna meant her words about Guy and the baby. ‘That I’d like to see,’ she said, knowing warm fuzzy moments weren’t Jenna’s cup of tea. With a kiss on her friend’s cheek, Imogen headed for the stage and turned to face the crowd. When the band finished their song, Imogen took the mic.

Even before she said anything, the yelling started.

‘Where’s all the men?’ cried one of the twins, holding up a glass and sloshing wine all over her short red dress. Clearly, she’d already had way too much to drink.

Cries of support echoed around the room. ‘Hear, hear!’

‘Yeah, you promised us testosterone!’

‘Please, ladies.’ Imogen’s used her loudest voice to be heard over the riot. ‘If you’ll just listen for a moment, I can explain. I know you’re disappointed, but one of our locals has gone missing in the storm. He’s over eighty and his memory’s not the best at the moment.’ She paused a second, trying to stop her voice from wobbling. ‘Unfortunately, most of the guys have had to join the search.’

Silence ruled for a momen,t and then more boos and harsher derogatory words were thrown her way.

The other twin stood up. ‘We paid for men. We want our money back.’

‘Yeah, damn straight we do.’ Another participant stood and started through the crowds.

Two other women followed. ‘Yeah, us too. We’re outta here.’

Imogen stood there, frozen with shock and disgust at their responses. Why had she ever thought this was a good idea? Gibson
was right – this was never going to work. She’d painted the weekend as some sort of party, whereas in reality, life in the bush wasn’t a party. It was about mucking in, becoming part of the community, caring about those around you in a way that just didn’t happen in the city. She’d wanted so badly to help her gorgeous patrons to find the love and intimacy they deserved, but you couldn’t manufacture love. Real love had a mind of its own – sparking where and when you least expected.

She could have screamed and yelled and told these women exactly what she thought of them, but that might have made them stay longer and she just wanted them gone. She wanted to concentrate on worrying about Charlie. She we wanted to be there when – if – Gibson needed her. So the decision was an easy one.

‘Fine, come over to the bar,’ she told them. ‘I’m happy to give you a refund.’

‘And so you should,’ snapped one of the twins.

Imogen didn’t dignify her with a response.

As the women lined up for their money and stormed from the pub, muttering angrily about collecting their things and heading back to the city, she couldn’t summon the anxiety to care that the roads would still be slippery and most of them over the legal limit. If they wanted to be stupid, so be it. She had bigger things to focus on.

The rain picked up again, mixing with the tears streaming down Gibson’s face. Stopping the quad bike for a moment (he’d taken it instead of the ute for better access on the rough terrain), he wiped his eyes with the backs of both hands. His mates weren’t far, searching every metre of Roseglen for Charlie, but he was beyond caring if any of them saw his tears. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d cried.
Even when Serena had delivered the final blow, he’d been more angry – at her, at himself, at the injustice of the world – than sad.

‘God!’ he screamed, realising it was a plea, not a curse. A self-confessed agnostic – he could never see the point in wasting time arguing for or against a superior being you couldn’t see – he now found himself bargaining.

Bring Charlie back, make him okay, and I promise I’ll take him to the doctors. I’ll talk to my parents. I’ll side with Mum about putting him in a home.

But it was no use. They’d searched every inch of Roseglen and not found even a trace of his grandfather. Looking up at the sky – darkening again now, because of the time as well as the return of inclement weather – he guessed Guy would have to call off the search until first light.

If anything happened to Charlie, his dad would skin him alive, but he’d have to wait in line, because Gibson’s life wouldn’t be worth living with that kind of guilt. He should have confronted him, should have made him see a doctor – and now the appointment he’d booked for two weeks away, giving him time to talk Charlie round, might have been too late.

The UHF radio clipped to his belt crackled and he could only just make out Guy’s voice over the wind. ‘Are you okay? Any sign of Charlie?’

‘No. I’m heading back now.’

‘Sorry,’ Guy said the moment Gibson disembarked the bike. ‘It’s late and dark and I’ve got to send the troops home.’ The searchers had congregated back in the shearing shed, their glum faces only a tiny echo of what he felt inside.

‘Okay.’

‘You’re not going to stop looking, though, are you?’

‘Hell no.’ Gibson ran a hand through his hair, itching to get back out there.

‘That’s what I thought. And I’ll be with you ever step of the way,’ Guy said.

‘Me too.’ Wazza’s firm hand landed on Gibson’s back in a show of support.

‘Thanks.’ Gibson resisted the urge to hug his friends. He’d barely given them the time of day these last couple of years, but like true mates, they didn’t hold that against him.

Then he turned to face the rest of the group. He swallowed the lump that had taken permanent residence in his throat to step forward and thank everyone.

Imogen’s hand ached as she signed her name on the last cheque. She’d lost count of how many refunds she’d written, but it felt like a lot, so she was surprised to look up and find a few ladies still nursing cocktails at a couple of the tables. As if sensing her staring, a couple looked up and smiled warmly.

Michelle, the quiet brunette who’d taken a shine to Warren, spoke first. ‘So sorry to hear about your barman. Is there anything we can do to help?’